


Taking the next chance

by YvonneSilver



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8878846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvonneSilver/pseuds/YvonneSilver
Summary: Galen had spent too long trying to remain neutral in a war that would allow no such indifference. Now that he had been dragged back, he was determined to make up for his inaction. But to complete the plan that had been years in the making, he'd need help from an unexpected source.





	

There were some days where he actually managed to lose himself in his work. Galen had been back in this facility for almost thirteen years, and there were days when it almost felt like home. He played the role he’d assigned himself so well he almost believed it. He kept his head down and filled his thoughts with measurements and calculations, material shipments and building plans. But sometimes he remembered that his home was never this empty, that there are supposed to be toys strewn around the floor, and the sound of Lyra humming a song, and his little Stardust at a table, drawing with her tongue a little stuck out between her teeth.

At times like those, he had to hold on to the table, and stare so hard at the holograms in front of him that the image glowed beneath his eyelids when he blinked, anything to stop himself from remembering their faces, their voices, their smiles. Because he was close. He was so close, and if he fell apart now it would all be for nothing.

Galen had held out for three years. Three years formulating a plan, practicing his poker face, learning how to lie. Three years in which he still allowed himself to express hope, then anger, then mourning. Jyn would’ve been twelve when he had to pretend to give her up for dead. He picked a day at random, and told his jailor that it was over. I’m done. Just please, give me something to occupy my thoughts.

And occupy his thoughts they did. As long as he kept them compartmentalized, he was fine. He learned to think of things in different terms. Facility instead of weapon. Laser instead of death ray. Targets instead victims. And he made them believe that he didn’t care about the true meaning behind those words.

 

For nearly six years, he managed to cripple their research. He had nine brilliant colleagues, but he was the lead scientist, and despite their combined genius he managed to outwit them without any of them noticing. At least, until Command started to demand results. He had started out with nine colleagues. He would end with only six. He couldn’t stall forever.

That was when he realised he would have to add a second layer to his deception. Not only hinder his colleagues’ progress, but build in a plan of his own. He didn’t have to pretend to be lost in thought anymore. He was so busy juggling what he pretended to build and what he actually built, there was little time to think of anything else. Each time one of the other scientists second guessed his planning, or questioned his calculations, he felt sure he’d be discovered. He was certain they could hear his hammering heart, see his hands shaking, even though his voice remained neutral. But they didn’t. Now that they were finally making progress, no-one looked too closely at each individual contribution. When he insisted that the reaction chamber needed to be close to the surface of the facility - claiming valuable surface space where the commanders had wanted to place ion-canons - no-one contradicted him. Cooling purposes, he’d said. Cooling purposes! It was a miracle he managed to make it to his rooms before his legs gave way from sheer anxiety over that lie.

But Galen had persevered. He’d built a weakness into the heart of the most dangerous weapon the Empire would possess, right under their noses. One shot in the right place, and the Death Star would become a Death Trap. A single kill switch, so well hidden that the builders themselves hadn’t even noticed it. Even with the blueprints, no-one would find the artifact unless they knew what they were looking for. No-one would ever suspect.

No-one. And suddenly the glaring flaw in his own plan became clear to him. He had worked so hard to eliminate thoughts of the outside world from his mind - to focus on his work, his role, his deception - that he had missed the most important detail. He needed to find a way to let the Alliance know.

 

It was too much. Thoughts of the outside world, of the Alliance and ways to contact them opened up gateways to other thoughts. Thoughts that would crack his façade if he let them. It was all he could do to keep a straight face as he stiffly got up. If any of the other scientists were surprised to see him leave early, none of them commented on it. They were too close to finishing their work to allow themselves to be distracted.

He was alone with a whirlwind of thoughts as he made his way back to his quarters. He had come too far, risked too much, to fail now. But thirteen years of undercover work had taken his toll. He had spent all of his energy on this single mission, and now that he needed to improvise he kept hitting dead end after dead end. His boots echoed down the corridor in ever hastening strides as he abandoned plan after ridiculous plan.

By the time he’d slammed the door of his chambers shut behind him, he knew he wasn’t getting off this planet. They’d already shot three scientists simply for not working fast enough. As the plans neared completion, security on the base had only increased. He realized now - too late - that this was as much to keep the people IN as it was to keep the rebels OUT. He was stuck.

 

Galen took a deep breath and steadied his thoughts. Compartmentalize. One thing at a time was the only way he was going to make his way through. If he couldn’t get off the planet himself, he’d have to make something that could. Filled with a new purpose, he strode over to his recorder.

 

He had to restart the recording five times. Falling back into his old skin was overwhelming. He only realized what a different man he’d had to become now that he tried to be his old self once more. For more than a decade, he had convinced the world - and sometimes even himself - that he was nothing more than a scientist - an empty husk of a person who just wanted to perform calculations and design crystal structures, and nothing else. Now, knowing that the lives of billions lay in his ability to convince the listener of his plan, it was almost impossible to shed that unfeeling façade.

Finally, he placed his hand over the lens, and closed his eyes. He thought of Jyn.

She’d be twenty-two now, a young woman in her own right. She’d been fatherless for most of her life. His fault. Galen shook his head, biting the inside of his cheeks. She was his daughter, no matter how much time had passed. She would understand.

He restarted the recording.

 

Galen walked out into the hall with a heavier heart but a lighter conscience. He was sure that anyone could see it on his face, now that the mask had been lifted, but it didn’t matter. On a necklace beneath his robe was a small pouch with a memory stick in it. Maybe he’d walk out the gates and into the mountains. Maybe they’d shoot him before he had that chance. Either way, there was a chance, the slightest chance, someone would find his body, and the message he carried now. Rebellions are built on hope.

He wasn’t exactly sure where he was headed, having stuck only to the mess-hall and the laboratories so far, but his feet instinctively led him where he needed to go. He read the signs he was following. The shuttle bay. Slowly, his mind caught up to his intuition. Maybe he could hide the message on board one of the supply shuttles. It would only marginally increase the chances of it ending up in the right hands, but it was better than having it incinerated in the crematory.

 

Galen turned a final corner and saw the corridor opening up into a large hangar. He could see the shuttles, but he hadn’t taken two steps into the room before someone stopped him. Galen raised his hands automatically, knowing he wasn’t much of a fighter. His whole plan had been based on stealth. If he couldn’t pull it off any more, this was where his part would end. Except when he turned, it wasn’t one of the soldiers who’d stopped him. It was one of the pilots, a gangly man, with brown skin, long hair and a scruffy beard.

“Whoa there, don’t want to get to close to the ships before they’re done loading,” he said, grinning. “They’re real nervous about any unauthorized personnel handling the cargo. Gotta be some really heavy stuff you’re building up in here, if they’re so scared about anyone finding out. Not that I know anything,” he added hurriedly. “I know absolutely nothing. I swear.”

Galen looked the man up and down, and made a snap judgment. “Would you like to?”

 

 

“A ship that can blow up planets?!”

“Shh!” Galen looked around, but it didn’t look like anyone had overheard them. They were squated down near the far end of the hangar bay, hidden from view by empty shipping crates. “Keep your voice down!”

“Planets?” The pilot squeaked, his eyes wide with fear.

“Billions will die, unless we stop it. Will you help me?” Galen asked.

The man looked around, his eyes darting from place to place, looking for a way out. “I’m just a simple cargo pilot. I fly ships. I didn’t want to know any of this.”

Galen knew he was asking too much, too fast. The fate of the galaxy was too large to put on a single person. The young man in front of him could be no older than twenty-five, and his demeanor already showed he had no experience with war. But Galen had no other choice. He took the pilot’s hands in his and waited for the man to look him in the eye, before he repeated his plea. “Will you help me?”

The man seemed to calm down, and finally put some serious thought into Galen’s question. After a moment, he looked up, and asked, “Why me?”

“Because you must. The last of the plans are shipping out today. I’ve done all I could to slow them down, but I can’t delay them any further. After the facility” Galen shook his head and corrected himself “the WEAPON is operational, there will be only one way to take it out. I cannot get out of this base. You can. You need to get word to Saw Gerrera. Repeat his name back to me.”

The man’s voice was tremulous, but he did as he was told. “Saw Gerrera.”

Galen dropped the man’s hands and reached behind his neck. He pressed the pouch into the pilot’s shaking hand. “Give this to him. It has all the information he needs. He will know who to get it to.”

“Saw Gerrera,” the pilot whispered, like a mantra.

“Yes. Tell him Galen Erso sent you.” He gave the man a slight push. “Go.” As he watched him walk away - a little jittery at first but with growing resolve - Galen fell back against the cold metal wall. He felt as if he had given a piece of his soul away. This was it, the end of the line. He had done all he could, to keep himself, and Jyn, AND the people of the galaxy safe. There was nothing left to do. He leant his head against the wall, and closed his eyes.

 

Except of course, that there was always something left to do. The trick was to keep going until you couldn’t go any further, and then to find a new way to go on.

He gave himself another fifteen seconds to mourn what he had lost, to remember the spark of hope he had released into the world. Then he began to push it all down. He rebuilt his walls, and put on his uncaring mask again. As long as he could continue the masquerade here, he could give his message a chance to slip out under the radar. And after that he might be able to hamper a new project, prevent a new weapon, or maybe find a way to slip out and rejoin the Alliance himself.

As he crossed the length of the bay - steering clear of the shuttles - he spotted the pilot clambering into his cockpit. He hadn’t even asked for his name. Galen clenched his jaw and kept walking, and didn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a [tumblr prompt](http://parvasilvi.tumblr.com/post/154574169499). Comments and critique are encouraged as always.


End file.
